


Death and Deceptions

by Waning_Grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Some angst, Spoilers for Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:40:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waning_Grace/pseuds/Waning_Grace
Summary: He turns to Moose, one eyebrow raised in expectancy. Between the two of them Moose has always been the more practical one--He'll see through the lie Squirrel is spouting and then they can move on instead of standing here debating about it.





	Death and Deceptions

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not really sure where this one came from though I think it's safe to say I'm not over the finale yet... While some notable things have been changed (a key character missing from the scene, ect.) spoilers for 12x23 'All Along the Watchtower' are ahead! This is my first time trying my hand at Crowley...please be gentle!

 

 

 

“She’s dead.” Dean informs him, voice carefully detached from the strange thread of worry the demon can detect under the words and to that Crowley can’t help but frown in annoyance. As much as he despises Mother this is something they undeniably have in common—the uncanny ability to not be dead when they should be, and surely the great Winchester’s must be aware of this themselves by now. With that in mind he turns to Moose, one eyebrow raised in expectancy. Between the two of them Moose in the practical one—he’ll see Rowena’s supposed demise for the lie it surely is and then they can move on to finding Mother instead of standing here debating about it.

 

To his surprise however, Moose doesn’t come right out and agree with him on Mother’s cleverness. Instead the man shoots an indecipherable look at his brother and the two proceed to have a silent conversation over his head! Something like the cold trickle of dread, if he was still capable of feeling such a thing, churns restlessly in his guts as he whips his head back and forth between the two yet before he can work up a complaint (of which he has several, starting with the absolute uncouthness of the non-verbal conversation going around him) Moose speaks up: “She’s actually dead, Crowley.”

 

There’s grief in Moo— _Sam’s_ voice, raw and visible, and that…that’s so far from what he was expecting to hear that he feels like he’s been thrown for a lurch. It’s impossible! Denial flares up inside him even as he glances between the two, and there’s no mistaking the utterly disgusting look of pity coming off the two humans, and…and there must be some kind of mistake. Surely Mother isn’t _truly_ dead—surely, he would know if she was! “How?” he demands, proud of the way his voice comes out in a commanding tone with none of his inner turmoil mixed in.

 

“Lucifer.” Sam utters, the morose tone of his voice lost under the sudden ringing in Crowley’s ears. So, it would seem it was true then; mother really is dead. The realization sits like a stone-cold lump in his gut, a strange writhing mess of impotent rage and righteous fury that can mostly be aimed at Rowena herself. He finds himself making a noncommittal humming sound, fully aware of the two sets of eyes on him and trots out the line he’s said more than once: “I always thought I would be the one to kill her.” There’s complete bafflement in his tone but he hardly cares because the dread inside is slowly being swept away by the white-hot rage that’s flaring up from his damned soul. Of all the transgressions Lucifer’s done towards him: taking over his throne, making him a tool for the amusement of the idiotic lower-class demons, _killing him_ , this one is a step too far. It may just be a tired old line but that makes it no less true: Rowena was his, and only his to kill and someone was damned well going to pay for that being taken away!

 

They’re watching him—Sam and Dean—the weight of their combined gaze and combined pity is like being slowly crushed under the force of two sixteen-ton weights. It’s despicable; it’s disgusting; it’s everything he stands against; it’s damned-all-to-hell suffocating and Crowley won’t stand for it. He glowers right back, all smoldering fury and frozen despair and contemplates his options here.

 

Unfortunately, there’s a terrible lack of them: to go against Lucifer on his own _yet again_ , something which has gone swimmingly the past few times he’s tried it, or to team up with Dumb and Dumber in their self-righteous idiotic ways to get the job done once and for all? It’s the kind of decision that raises the desire to eat hot coals for even that seems a better option than what he’s currently presented with here yet what choice does he have? Despite all the ways they annoy him, despite all his plans they have inadvertently foiled, and even though they just _won’t freaking die_ every single time he’s actively sought to kill them, Sam and Dean have proven annoyingly impossible to beat which makes it no contest really. As much as it pains him to admit it (even inside his head) he needs the bumbling idiots to help him lock Lucifer back into his cage once and for all.

 

They’re _still_ watching him, Christ that’s annoying—he doesn’t know how Feathers stands it, though it’s probably a habit the two have picked up from the angel—and if anything it just cements his resolve in this terrible plan. He doesn’t like it, hell he _barely_ likes them (again, something that pains him to admit even to himself) but even going against Lucifer he has no doubts that they’ll win. They always do after all. “Well?” He snaps out, meeting their gazes head on, feeling sick of the pity and ready to get this show on the road. The sooner Lucifer is caged again, the better.

 

The effect is instantaneous and delicious—the way the pity quickly morphs into something approaching hatred as they snap to attention as one, but it’s Moose who cracks first. “Why did you do it Crowley?” He asks, something like hesitance in his voice that tells the demon he probably really doesn’t want to hear the answer. It’s fair enough—he doesn’t want to admit it either. Still he shrugs, the perfect picture of nonchalance as he looks up (and up) into Moose’s earnest face. “I wanted to win.” He says simply, because at the heart of it that’s all that truly matters any more. “I perverted Mother’s spell and locked Lucifer into a vessel of my own making…simply because I wanted to win.”

 

Fury flickers across the younger Winchester’s face, a quick glance showing the same expression mirroring Dean’s face as well—and to that he can’t help feeling a surge of satisfaction. _Good_. Let them hate him; it’s so much preferable than the pity from before and he can’t help but stroke the flames higher. “The truth is I had him. He was locked inside a meat-suit he could not escape from, it was the perfect alternative to the cage.” He pauses a beat, relishing the small choking noise that indicates Moose is picturing all this in his head before he continues: “There should have been no way for him to escape.”

 

The unspoken ‘yet he did’ hangs uncomfortably in the air along with the unspoken ‘I should have seen it coming’ because if there is one regret about this whole venture, it lies in the way Lucifer escaped. Just how the Devil managed to reverse what should have been the perfect solution to him is still a baffling mystery…one Crowley fully intends to get to the bottom of once Lucifer is dealt with once and for all. Nestled amongst the legion of supposedly loyal demons someone knows something and there’s not a place on earth or hell that Crowley won’t find them…and there will be nothing to save them when he does.

 

In the meantime there’s bigger fish to lure into the frying pan. He looks up, assessing, first one Winchester then the other before committing to this new plan of utter lunacy. There’s no proven defense against Lucifer, nothing known that can stop him, and yet the two humans before him are the best chance they’ve all got. He doesn’t like it, and fair enough, they him, but… “If I’ve learned anything from this venture it’s where to place my bets.” He starts, a smirk slowly growing, enjoying the near identical looks of loathing being cast his way. “And as always it lies with you, you big blundering idiots. If there’s anyone who can put Lucifer back into his cage once and for all it’d be the two of you. So, what do you say boys? Let’s go beat the Devil!” 

 

The Winchester’s don’t disappoint—there’s a look of dubious ‘you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me’-ness which is to be expected but underneath that lies the reaction the demon wants: interest. _Mother would be proud,_ he thinks, emboldened by the sharp spike of pain that penetrates his guts at the reminder of her. _“You’ve got them eating out of your hand now Fergus!”_ her voice drawls in his head, mocking as it ever was, and okay, perhaps proud wasn’t the word for this but who cares? Mother is dead and Lucifer is going to pay, one way or the other. In the end that’s all that matters here.

 

“Okay Crowley,” Dean’s voice breaks into his thoughts, the look in his eyes proving he’s on board with the plan even before the words get out of his mouth, “We’ll do it.” From the other side Moose nods in solidarity and just like that his plan is afoot. The smirk returns, bigger in force as he eyes the two men. “What are you waiting for then?” He asks, watching as they bristle. “Let’s get started.”


End file.
